


Harry Potter and the Lord of Winter

by trashgoblinwizardparty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Dubious Consent, Folktales and Legends, Graphic Depictions of Weather, Gratuitously Handsome Voldemort, M/M, Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, Supernatural Elements, canon-typical weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty/pseuds/trashgoblinwizardparty
Summary: There's a place hidden deep in the wildest parts of the Scottish Highlands where spring never comes.A nameless mountain looms large over the landscape, and all that falls within its shadow is eternally winter-bound.Or so the story goes.Whether a curse or a quirk of nature, the fact remains that the village of Hogsmeade has not seen a summer in more than five hundred years.But of course, no rational-minded person in this day and age would believe in things like curses.Eighteen-year-old Harry Potter has just moved to Hogsmeade with his family. His parents, Lily and James, both scientists who study weather patterns, are intrigued by the meteorological puzzle Hogsmeade presents. Harry and his two younger sisters are somewhat less enthusiastic.Harry himself is at a crossroads in life, having decided to take a gap year before going to uni. No longer a child, but also not quite ready to become an adult.When he meets a strange young man named Tom Riddle, Harry’s life changes in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined.





	1. The Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom... here goes nothing! 
> 
> There's a cover for this fic! Check it out [here](http://tomarrybigbang.tumblr.com/post/177943927022/harry-potter-and-lord-of-winter-2c)
> 
> The chapter headers are by the same lovely artist!
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [cybrid](https://cybrid.tumblr.com)

Nestled at the base of a tall, formidable peak in one of the wildest places of the Scottish Highlands was the village of Hogsmeade. It was a small settlement, founded over a thousand years ago, and largely unchanged since then. The people were of hearty stock; gruff, and highly distrustful of strangers. It had all the trappings of any other village: a butcher shop, a small greengrocer, a bookshop, and even an inn whimsically called “The Three Broomsticks.” It would be a completely unremarkable place if it weren’t for one strange thing: 

The village of Hogsmeade has not seen a summer for over five hundred years.

Fields once tilled and filled with crops stood barren and icy. Snow swirled and drifted deep around buildings. The bare skeletons of oak and alder and birch dotted the landscape, their limbs broken and ravaged by cold and time. Even the sheep, which were hardy enough to withstand the cold, had to be lead far out of the shadow of the mountain to graze in the next valley over, where spring still came. The only hint of color which remained were the pines, frozen in time, eternally green but no longer growing.

The cause of the mysterious meteorological phenomenon around Hogsmeade village was the subject of much debate among scientists—which is to say it was the subject of debate among the only two scientists who were actually interested in studying the place. Lily and James Potter, Professional Climatologists, Amateur Storm-Chasers, and all-around Weather Enthusiasts, had made the decision to pack up their family and move to Hogsmeade in search of answers. 

After the school term ended for the summer holidays, the Potters made arrangements for the move. They had been allowed a three-year grant from the Natural Environment Research Council which would cover expenses while they studied the strange climate of Hogsmeade. 

Their eighteen-year-old son Harry, their fifteen-year-old daughter Daisy, and thirteen-year-old daughter Lucy, who had been uprooted from their school and all their friends, were considerably less excited about it. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad! Think of all the new people you’ll meet!” Harry’s godfather, Sirius, had told him the previous afternoon. 

Harry’s other godfather, Remus, had been more sympathetic, saying, “It won’t be forever, you’ll be going to uni soon.” 

Sirius and Remus had stood with them as they watched the moving van trundle away with almost all of their family’s worldly possessions. That evening, the seven of them had what Dad insisted on calling a “fun camp-out” but what Harry privately thought of as “a depressing and uncomfortable night” in a living room completely devoid of furniture. 

~*~*~*~

**12 August, 1998.**

Harry shifted irritably in the back of the family car. He was not particularly tall, but it was still a bit of a squeeze for an eighteen year old boy. There was a cramp in his leg and his back was stiff from laying on the floor with only a sleeping bag and pillow the night previous. His mood was not made any better by Mum and Dad periodically pointing out cloud formations and expecting their kids to be interested. 

He stared glumly at the countryside moving by in a swift grey-green blur, bearing him ever-further from his past life, where he had friends and hobbies, to a new, unknown village full of strangers, and probably no football team. 

He glanced over to his sisters. Daisy, who often got carsick, was sat in the middle, dozing with her head tilted back against the seat after taking motion sickness pills. Lucy, on the far end by the other window, was playing a game on her hand-held. Harry may not get carsick, but he couldn’t sleep in a car and neither could he read or play games without feeling ill. 

It made for an exceptionally boring few hours. 

He let out a sigh. Hogsmeade, Scotland. Even the name sounded dull. 

A place where it was never summer, supposedly. That probably DID mean there was no football team, since it was rather hard to kick a ball in the snow. He let out another sigh. 

“Only about another half an hour before we arrive!” Mum said, looking into the rear-view mirror to catch Harry’s eye and smiling. Harry managed a weak smile in return. 

“Oh! Look at those lovely _Stratocumulus Undulatus_!” Mum exclaimed, her attention caught by the clouds again. The car swerved alarmingly to the right, almost into the (thankfully empty) oncoming traffic lane. 

“Eyes on the road, Lils,” Dad said with a nervous laugh. “I know it’s exciting but we don’t want to crash!” 

“James, who was it that drove us safely through that ice storm in Östersund?” Mum retorted. 

“You were paying attention to the road, then,” Dad replied. 

“Of course I was! There was ice _everywhere_ , I was sure we’d crash!” but Mum said it like she was remembering a fond memory, rather than a terrifying one. 

Harry rolled his eyes. Mum and Dad were entirely too excited about weather, a passion none of their children shared. 

He let his head thunk against the window. Only half an hour and they’d be at their new home. One that was perpetually covered in snow, even now, in the middle of August. At least they’d never have to worry about heat stroke.

He passed the remaining time by mentally composing an email to Hermione. Or perhaps he’d have to send a letter, since he didn’t know if there would even be internet in Hogsmeade (he rather suspected there wouldn’t be).

“Oh! Would you look at that!” Mum exclaimed. 

Something in her tone made Harry sat up straighter, and even Lucy looked up from her game. 

They had cleared the top of the last hill and before them spread a valley. Unlike every other valley they’d passed through which had been lush with greenery, this one glittered pale with ice. Rearing up at the far end of it was an ominous mountain entirely encased in snow. 

Harry’s gaze was caught by the mountain, the peak of which was stained bloody-gold by the setting sun. Mum and Dad were excitedly theorizing about microclimates or something, Harry wasn’t really listening, his attention focused as it was on the far mountain. As they descended into the frozen valley that they would soon call home, Harry couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. 

An hour later, they were parked in the drive of their new home. Well, “new” was a relative term, as this house looked like it was at least a couple of centuries old. And it was less a house and more a cottage. It even had what looked like straw (dad said it was called “thatch”) on the roof. What could be seen of the roof beneath a blanket of snow, that is. 

The moving van had beaten them there, and all their stuff was haphazardly crammed into the foyer of the house, as if the movers had not wanted to linger. Harry scuffed his shoe against the snow and rubbed his hands over his bare arms. There were at least a couple of inches of snow everywhere. The whole village looked like a Christmas card. It was hard to believe it was August, and that an hour ago they had been driving through lush green hills. 

Harry’s gaze was once again drawn to the mountain which loomed large over the village. It had almost a magnetic pull to it, which Harry found very unnerving. 

Mum and Dad chivvied a still-groggy Daisy and a rather sullen Lucy into the house. They had, in their excitement, forgotten that a perpetually winter-bound village would be _cold_ and none of them had dressed accordingly. 

Harry shivered, and with one last fleeting glance towards the mountain, he followed the rest of his family into their new home. 

~*~*~*~

Unpacking would have to wait until tomorrow, as they were all exhausted from the drive. After a rather meagre dinner of a packet of crisps and a banana each, they settled down in front of the huge fireplace. Dad pulled some newspaper from one of the boxes and used it as kindling for a fire. 

Harry spread out his sleeping bag on the floor. He was near the window, and though it was too dark to make out any detail, he could practically feel the mountain looming over him. The house was solid and well-made (if Harry were any judge of such things): all dark wooden beams and white-washed plaster. While it wasn’t exactly freezing in the house, there was certainly a chill in the air that the fire did nothing to dispel. 

Daisy and Lucy were situated closer to the fire, between Harry and where Mum and Dad were. Daisy was fast asleep in moments, probably still feeling the lingering effects of the Dramamine she’d taken before the trip. The faint light of a hand-held emanating from the opening of Lucy’s sleeping bag was evidence that she was still awake, but she’d turned the sound off, thankfully. Mum and Dad were both lightly snoring. Harry lay still, listening to the quiet sounds of his family. Soon, the light from Lucy’s sleeping bag shut off, and she too was asleep. 

Harry couldn’t seem to get comfortable, no matter how he shifted, and he was cold. More so than he should have been, wrapped in multiple layers and cocooned in a sleeping bag as he was. He hoped having a real bed tomorrow would help, but there was something about this village that set him on edge. He had an uncomfortable feeling of being watched. 

Harry shifted to his side, gazing into the dying embers of the fire. He thought he must be getting sleepy at last, because as his eyes unfocused, he could’ve sworn he saw a face in the flames. A man’s face, with eyes that glowed red. Harry blinked a couple of times and the vision was gone, and then the fire went out completely, leaving complete darkness in its wake. A chill crept up Harry’s spine that had nothing to do with the drafty window or the sudden drop in temperature.

~*~*~*~

Morning came at last, and with it, a grouchy Mum, two grouchy sisters, and an overly-cheerful Dad. Harry rubbed at his gritty eyes, still feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. Dad was in the kitchen, and the smell of sizzling sausages filled the air. Harry’s stomach rumbled in response.

“The first thing we’re doing today is setting up the beds, honestly.” Harry heard Mum mutter to herself.

“Bit chilly in here, isn’t it?” Mum said, this time for everyone’s benefit. She busied herself by trying to start the fire again.

Harry sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair. He fumbled for where he’d left his glasses on the floor next to his sleeping bag and crammed them on his face. He was on the verge of warning Mum about the face in the fireplace, but he stopped himself. He was sure he must’ve imagined a face, since he didn’t even have his glasses on when he saw it.

Instead, he climbed out of his warm nest of blankets and made his way into the kitchen.

Daisy was sat at the table already, wrapped in a thick blanket and visibly shivering. Her messy black hair was still loose —usually she had it tamed into a braid by now.

Lucy was poking around in various boxes.

"Dad, where are the batteries? My game is dead," Lucy said, tucking a bit of red hair behind her ear.

"Er. I'm not sure," Dad replied. "I think your mum packed them."

Lucy paused. "MUM!" she yelled.

"What?" Mum yelled back from the living room, still evidently trying to start a fire.

"Where're the batteries!?" Lucy shouted, still poking at the boxes labeled "Kitchen Things."

"In one of the boxes!"

"Which box!?"

"I don't know! One of them probably!"

Lucy made a sound of utter disgust and stormed off into the foyer where the rest of the boxes were.

Harry sat himself down at the table by Daisy. He was still a bit cold, but he had decided not to do as she was doing and wear a blanket. He rather felt he had too much dignity for that.

"James, I think we need to get that fireplace looked at," Mum said, coming into the kitchen.

Dad grunted distractedly, still preparing breakfast.

"It worked fine last night, but it's not letting me light a fire this morning," Mum continued.

"Mmhmm," Dad said, cracking an egg into the pan.

"James, are you even listening—where did you get all that?" Mum asked, gesturing at the frying pan with its sausages, bacon, tomatoes, and mushrooms. There were gently-steaming fried potatoes piled on a paper plate to the side already. Dad cracked another egg into the pan.

"One of the neighbors came over with all of it, and lent us the use of her frying pan," Dad replied.

Harry, who hadn't even been paying attention to how Dad could be making breakfast when they hadn't packed any food with them, looked up in interest. Memories of a face with red eyes flitted through his mind for a brief moment.

"One of the neighbors?" Daisy asked, her voice still rough from sleep. She was not a morning person at the best of times and after a long car ride dosed with Dramamine she still sounded groggy. She blinked owlishly behind her glasses. 

"Yeah," Dad said with a laugh. "Apparently they don't get many people moving here, so anyone who does is given a warm welcome. She said that we should come down to the Three Broomsticks and introduce ourselves tonight."

"What's her name?" Mum asked curiously.

"Er. Something McGonagall, I think?" Dad said.

"Huh," Mum said.

"It's breakfast!" Dad announced, wrapping the handle of the pan in a towel and taking it over to where Harry and Daisy were sitting. Harry noticed there was a stack of paper plates and plastic cutlery already on the table. He pulled a plate from the stack and grabbed a fork and knife. Daisy did the same.

"LUCY! BREAKFAST!" Mum shouted.

"FINE," Lucy shouted back. She came stomping into the kitchen, face like a thundercloud.

"Would you be a dear and bring the potatoes?" Dad asked.

Lucy didn't respond with anything other than an eye roll, but she did grab the plate of potatoes and brought it with her.

"Lu, we'll find the batteries later," Dad said. "I'm sure we packed some. We wouldn't dream of letting you go a whole day without blowing up an alien on your game. Now eat." And with that, Dad tipped several sausages, some bacon, and eggs onto a plate in front of the youngest Potter daughter.

"Where's the toast?" Lucy asked, stuffing half a sausage into her mouth.

"Do you see a toaster in here?" Dad replied.

Daisy snickered, scooping up egg and mushroom with her fork. "Do we have anything to drink?" she asked.

Dad and Mum exchanged a look.

"I knew I was forgetting something," Dad said.

Mum was about to say something when a knock at the door interrupted her.

"Harry, would you get that?" Mum asked.

Harry, who had been shoveling food into his mouth as quickly as humanly possible, set down his fork and got up.

He made his way to the entry, threading through a maze of boxes, a feeling of apprehension gathering in his belly. But when he opened the heavy wooden door, there was no one there. Harry stared out into the wintry morning in confusion, before looking down.

There was a glass bottle of milk sitting in the snow on the doorstep.

Harry looked around once more, but there was no one. Only a couple of sets of footsteps, one very fresh (from whomever delivered the milk) and one a bit older and filled in with snow, presumably the mysterious "McGonagall" who'd delivered their breakfast.

The milkman, Harry thought. That would make sense. He picked up the bottle and carried it to the kitchen.

"That's convenient," Dad said as Harry set the bottle down with a glass thunk on the table.

There was a pause where no one said anything.

"All our cups are still packed away..." Mum said, breaking the silence.

In the end, they shared the milk by taking turns drinking directly from the bottle, with mum swearing that while the beds would be the first thing set up, the very next thing would be to find the cups and the teakettle.

~*~*~*~

The rest of the day was spent unpacking. Lucy was being especially and uncharacteristically helpful, but Harry suspected it was her search for batteries that spurred her on. Mum and Dad would occasionally pause to look out the window and exclaim at the falling snow.

Harry thought it wasn't all that interesting. It was just normal snow, and aside from the fact it was happening in August, there wasn't anything special about it. But Mum and Dad carried on about it as if it were sparkly pink angel feathers falling from heaven.

He was just putting a photo of Ron, Hermione, and himself up on his dresser when he heard the familiar sounds of Daisy and Lucy getting into a screaming match in the next room. The cottage wasn't very big, and only had three bedrooms, which meant Daisy and Lucy would have to share. Which meant screaming matches. Harry reached over with his foot and shut his bedroom door. It didn’t do much to muffle the noise. 

Harry sighed, and flopped onto his newly-made bed, which was tucked beneath the window. The ceiling sloped at a sharp angle, and he hoped he wouldn’t smack his head on it when he woke up in the morning, but there really was no other place for the bed to go in the small room. 

He briefly thought about finding all his posters and tacking them up, trying to make his room look more personalized. More _his_. But he couldn’t seem to summon the energy for it. 

The house was situated just at the edge of town, and his bedroom faced the mountain. It was only fair that he get the smallest bedroom, as he was the only one who didn’t have to share with someone. 

Harry lay and watched the weak sunlight stream in and light up the wall opposite. Dad had said he could paint his room any color he wanted, but the aged white-washed plaster was fine with him, really. He’d be going to Uni in a year, anyway, so he didn’t really see the point. Lucy would probably move in the moment he was gone. 

He rolled onto his back and gazed out the window. From this angle, only the top-most part of the mountain could be seen... but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He mentally made a note to get mum to buy him a blind for his window. The light dimmed so slowly he barely noticed it, until the first fat flakes of snow began drifting gently beyond the window, and everything turned a dull grey. Harry’s eyelids slid closed of their own volition. 

~*~*~*~

_A cold wind cut bitter and sharp through his thin cloak like a knife. Harry could hardly feel his fingers or toes. When he looked at his hand, it was blue. There was a part of him that felt he should be alarmed at this, but nothing seemed to cut through the fog of apathy._

_“Harry...”_

_A voice on the wind. A dark tenor, low and seductive. It surrounded him on all sides, but he could not see the speaker._

_He was so, so cold._

_The wind picked up even harder and caused the snow to dance around him. The snowflakes that had been soft and gentle suddenly turned to daggers of ice and slashed at his skin, leaving him screaming and bloody._

_But the blood_

_that dripped from his wounds_

_was not red_

_but blue._

_He couldn’t move._

_Couldn’t breathe._

_“Harry.”_

_That voice. Haunting._

_Red eyes in a white face._

~*~*~*~

Harry woke with a start. It was dark outside his window, though he had no idea what time it was. His digital alarm clock was still packed away, along with most of the rest of his things. All the boxes with “Harry’s” scrawled across them in sharpie were now piled in his room. How he’d slept through that, he had no idea.

He scrambled out of bed, still wearing his clothes, though not his shoes or glasses, the latter of which were folded upon the bedside table. He was covered in a blanket. Mum or Dad must’ve done that. He felt a stab of guilt—he was supposed to have been helping unpack, not napping.

Despite his jeans and jumper and the duvet, he was shivering. And starving, since he surely slept through dinner. Dragging a hand through his hair he snatched up his glasses. Moonlight streamed in through the window, dripping down the wall and puddling on the floor, almost unnaturally bright. He’d been so used to the light pollution of the suburbs that now, in a little village, the light of the moon seemed too much. It reflected blindingly off the icy side of the mountain, and the sky was spangled with stars that couldn’t be seen from their old home.

Harry crept across the floor, every creak of the old wood cracking like a gunshot in the stillness.

His stomach rumbled with hunger—he hoped Mum or Dad had bought some food, or at the very least had gotten takeaway and left him some. He made his way as quietly as possible down the stairs and to the kitchen, hoping to not wake anyone.

Moonlight flooded across the floor in the parlor, bright enough so Harry could wind his way through remaining boxes in the foyer and dining room without turning on a light.

He managed to get to the kitchen without tripping over too many things. There were still odds and ends waiting to be put in permanent spots but the kitchen was mostly done. Harry felt another stab of guilt at falling asleep like that.

In the fridge, there were the remains of what looked to be spag bol. In fact, there was even a plastic-wrapped plate with what would've been Harry's portion on it. He considered microwaving it, but when his stomach gave a particularly loud rumble he decided to just eat it cold.

The side of the mountain could be seen outside the kitchen window, and almost against his will, Harry was drawn to it. He shoveled cold spaghetti into his mouth with a plastic fork (not having bothered to look where the silverware was kept) and wandered over to the window.

The mountain loomed large and close. Harry forced himself to take a good look at it. It was just an ordinary mountain. Nothing to be frightened of. The moonlight reflected off the glittering snow. It was strange, Harry thought, knowing that it was nearly mid-August and when outside it looked like January.

A flash of light across the sky drew his attention. A shooting star. He still didn't know what time it was.

He finished his food and set the plate in the sink.

Harry was about to go back up to his room when he felt.. almost a calling. Compelled to look out the window one last time.

There, beneath the corpse of a tree that had long ago lost its leaves and most of its branches to ice and snow, was a figure. A figure darker still than the shadows around it. Harry would almost have missed it, hidden away as it was and utterly still. It could've been a trick of the light, were it not for the fact that it looked to be wearing a cloak of darkness which rippled slightly in the cold breeze.

Harry was caught, frozen, unable to look away. His breathing quickened and his heart galloped in his chest at the sight. It was watching him. He couldn't see a face but he knew, deep down to his marrow, that it was watching him. And has been since the moment he arrived in Hogsmeade.

He blinked and the figure seemed to be closer. It definitely wasn't in the same spot. Harry felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. A whisper of hissing sounded in the back of Harry's mind, a cold sound, like wind across a desolate arctic plain. Harry couldn't move, only stand and watch helplessly as the figure came ever nearer.

A loud crash and a soft "Oh dear!" sounded from the parlor, breaking the spell on Harry. He whipped around towards the direction of the noise instinctively, heart in his throat. He was able to move again.

Daisy was in the parlor with her telescope, and had evidently tripped over a box.

"What are you doing up?" Harry asked, helping her to her feet.

"I'm observing the Perseids! Tonight's the night they're at their peak," Daisy said, sliding her glasses back up her nose with a finger.

"The what?" Harry asked.

"The Perseid meteor shower! I've never been anywhere with such a clear night sky! I just had to watch them tonight!"

Meteor showers. Of course. Daisy was just as mad for space as their parents were for weather. Harry remembered the shooting star he'd seen. That made sense.

"Why are you set up down here? Wouldn't it be a better view from your room?" Harry asked.

Daisy sighed and ran a hand through her untidy black hair. "Because my window has a big mountain covering a third of the sky, and Lucy threw a fit when I asked to put my telescope up at hers."

"So that's what your row was over, huh?" Harry said.

"Lucy is being so unreasonable! She says I'm not allowed on her half of the room, which is an absolute mess by the way, I wouldn't normally want to try and wade through all that rubbish, but her window has the better view!"

Harry didn't have anything to say to that, so he just nodded.

"What are you doing up?" Daisy asked.

"I was hungry... I must've slept through dinner? When did we get real food?" Harry asked.

"Mum sent Dad to the market in the next village over to get groceries," Daisy lowered her voice conspiratorially, "But I think Mum only wanted him out of the house while she put stuff away." 

"That sounds like something she'd do," Harry said, and then remembered something, "Weren't we supposed to go to that broomstick pub and introduce ourselves tonight... er. Last night?"

"Oh, well..." Daisy looked a bit guilty at that. "We were all tired after unpacking, and you were asleep, so Mum decided we should do it another night? I'm sure the people of the village will understand..." She trailed off, looking a bit fretful.

She had a tendency to overthink things.

"I'm sure they do," Harry said.

They were both quiet for a minute.

"Do you want to watch the Perseids with me?" Daisy offered. "I'll let you use my telescope."

"Nah, I'm alright, I think I'll just go back to bed," Harry told her.

"Oh. Well, suit yourself," Daisy said, shrugging.

Harry left her to her meteors and he climbed the stairs back to his room. He was cold again. A chill he couldn't shake since seeing that... thing.

He climbed onto his bed and pulled the covers around himself. He was still wearing his clothes but couldn't be bothered to try and find pajamas now. Nervously, he peered out of his window, trying to see if he could spot the shadowy figure again. But whatever it had been was gone now. Maybe he'd imagined it?

He curled up in bed beneath the duvet and shivered. A face in the fireplace with burning red eyes, and now a figure watching him from the shadows. A village where it was perpetually winter.

Something very strange was going on in Hogsmeade.


	2. Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the next chapter. 
> 
> Chapter header by the same [lovely artist who did the cover art and previous chapter header](http://tomarrybigbang.tumblr.com/post/177943927022/harry-potter-and-lord-of-winter-2c) ♥

The next morning, Harry woke with the lingering feeling he'd had a nightmare but couldn't remember the details.

It bothered him, but he resolved to put it out of his mind for now. He still had most of his things to unpack. And tonight, they'd be introducing themselves at the local inn.

The mysterious McGonagall had returned that morning to see how they were settling in just as they were sitting down to breakfast (cooked with their own fry pan and own food purchased by Dad the day before). Mum had insisted she come in for a bite to eat.

She was a tall, stern-looking woman with black hair all gathered into a tight bun. Harry thought she looked a bit like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz... except for the green skin. She wouldn't look out of place in a long black dress and wide-brimmed witch hat.

Ms. Minerva Mcgonagall was a schoolteacher, as it turned out. There weren't very many kids in the village so they were all taught in the same building. Harry was somewhat surprised to hear that, though he’d be taking a gap year, McGonagall would be Daisy and Lucy’s teacher once school started up again after summer. If you could even call it summer.

Ms. McGonagall left with a wave and her frying pan tucked under her arm, but not before she gently insisted they come down to the inn tonight.

"Well I suppose we have to do it now," Dad said, a little nervously.

"Oh I'm sure it won't be so bad!" Mum said. Though she, too, looked a bit unsure.

Harry went up to his room after helping Lucy clear the table and pulled a box over to him. He turned his back on the window, despite the lingering unease being in sight of the mountain gave him, and set to work unpacking his things.

Several hours later, he sat back and wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling warmer than he had in days. He looked down into the last box. Inside were his football uniform and a ball that had been passed around and signed by all his friends and teammates as a going-away gift. He lifted the ball out. It was the one he'd won the last game with, he recognized the scuff marks. There were signatures filling every one of the white hexagons.

He felt a pang of homesickness, remembering his last day in Surrey. His friends and teammates had all banded together to send him off in style with a huge party.

Harry brushed his fingers over the familiar surface of the football and then stowed it away on the shelf in the small closet, situating it right in the center where he'd see it every time he opened the door.

With a stab of guilt, he realized he had yet to call or email Ron or Hermione.

They did have an internet connection, as it turned out. That was one of the first things Mum had made sure of. But the family computer was mostly used for Mum and Dad's weather nonsense. The kids each were allowed an hour of computer time a night (Harry often traded his to Lucy or Daisy in return for them doing his share of the chores).

Hermione was easier to get a hold of by email, since she practically lived on the computer. Ron, however, had five older brothers and a younger sister and their family couldn't afford one. Harry decided he'd write up what he was going to say to Hermione first, and then give Ron a call before they went to the Three Broomsticks.

~*~*~*~

That evening the whole family trudged through the snow to the inn at the end of the high road. It was eight pm, and yet it was still quite light out. The lamps hadn’t even been lit.

The Three Broomsticks Inn was evidently the place to be, as the sounds from inside carried far and only intensified whenever the door opened. They weren't even halfway there and yet the distinct sounds of raucous laughter rang out across the frozen streets. A sole spot of warmth in an eternally winter land.

Harry felt a curl of trepidation nestle in his belly. He glanced over to Daisy, who he knew hated crowds. She looked a bit ill. Lucy just looked bored.

The door swung open as they approached and a grizzled, grouchy-looking old man stalked out, muttering to himself. He stopped to give each one of them a fierce glare before trudging off down the road.

Mum and Dad exchanged looks.

"What's his problem?" Lucy huffed, squinting after the old man.

As usual, Lucy was not wearing her glasses, claiming she didn't need them. Mum had long ago given up on that particular fight.

They reached the entrance at last. Dad gave them all a weak smile of encouragement and pushed the door open.

The cacophony spilled across them like a wave at the beach but as soon as Mum and Dad stepped inside everything went eerily quiet. Harry, Lucy, and Daisy followed after, keeping as close as possible. Daisy did her best to hide behind Harry while Lucy tried to look tough and unaffected. Harry privately thought she just looked squinty and unfocused.

The place was absolutely packed from wall to wall, every available seat seemed to be taken, and there were even a few people perched on the edges of tables and leaning against the wall. The inn was all polished dark wood and stone floors. Three large chandeliers hung suspended from the crossbeam and Harry thought they must have real wax candles burning in them, but he couldn't be sure.

There were lamps along the walls lit with real flame which shone through amber panes of glass giving the inn a warm, homey atmosphere. He thought it would be nice if it weren't so crowded.

And if the crowd in question wasn't staring at them.

"Hi," Dad offered, tentatively. "Er. We're the Potters and we just moved here."

All at once the noise resumed, rushing back like the tide. People surged forward at the same time to introduce themselves. A large man, larger by far than anyone else Harry had ever seen strode across the floor, causing people to scramble out of the way. He was massive, and had a bushy black beard and matching hair.

"Pleased ter meet ya!" the giant boomed. "The name's Rubeus Hagrid, at yer service!"

He then took Dad's hand and shook it like he was going to take his arm off.

He did the same to Harry, and also to Mum, Daisy, and Lucy (though Harry thought he might've been a bit more gentle with the girls). Harry surreptitiously shook his now-tingling arm.

After Hagrid, a line formed with what Harry thought to be nearly everyone in the inn coming to greet them. After about the third time Doris Crockford introduced herself, Dad stammered something about not wanting to keep their friend waiting, and managed to extricate them all from the throng, heading for the far wall.

Harry recognized Ms. McGonagall, who looked just as witch-like as she had earlier that day, sitting at a corner table alongside a tall, silver-haired man with a crooked nose and blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses. He wore his hair long, and had a long silver beard to match. If McGonagall looked like a witch from a storybook, then this man looked like a wizard, Harry thought. There was another person at their table, too, a dour, sour-faced pale man with longish, rather greasy-looking black hair and a large hooked nose.

Dad hustled them up to the table with a palpable sense of relief. "Minerva!" he said.

Ms. Mcgonagall nodded in greeting, "Hello, James. Lily."

"Lovely place, this," Mum said, rather awkwardly. "I quite like all the.. er...candles?"

"Please, sit down," Ms. Mcgonagall said. Though she said it more like an order than an invitation.

"Are you sure? We wouldn't want to impose," Dad said, looking to the other men at the table.

"Not at all, not at all," the silver-haired old man spoke up, with a bright smile that lit up his already twinkling eyes. "You see, I have yet to introduce myself, I'm Albus Dumbledore, the town historian, and this," Dumbledore said, gesturing to greasy-hair, "is Severus Snape, another teacher at the school you children will be attending. Say hello to them, Severus."

Snape made a face like he'd swallowed an entire lemon and shot a glare at Dumbledore who only smiled benignly back at him.

"Hello. Pleased to meet you," Snape said with the air of someone who'd been forced at gunpoint to be polite.

"There now," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together and looking at them expectantly.

Dad must've been caught off guard, but Mum swooped in to save the day.

"I'm Lily Potter and this is my husband James," she said, gesturing to Dad. "And these are our children, Harry, Daisy, and Lucy," waving to each of them in turn. "We just... just moved here from Little Whinging..." Mum trailed off at the venomous glare Snape directed at her when she'd said "moved here." 

"Don't mind Severus, he's awkward around new people," Dumbledore said jovially. "Please, do sit down! Have you eaten yet? The food here is delightful."

Taking their cue, Mum, Dad, Daisy, Lucy, and Harry took seats at the table. Harry was sat next to the dour-faced Snape, who looked to be about as happy with the seating arrangements as Harry was. Daisy was next to Harry, and Lucy between Daisy and Mum. Dad took a seat between Mum and Mcgonagall.

"Isn't this nice?" Mr. Dumbledore said as a waitress distributed menus and took their drink orders. "I highly recommend the pot roast."

Their table was a quiet spot in the sea of noise that was the rest of the inn as everyone shifted uncomfortably. Mr. Dumbledore either didn't notice or didn't care that the silence was rapidly becoming awkward.

"Room for one more?" a booming voice sounded behind Harry.

Harry craned his head around and saw Hagrid, the giant man from before, grinning down at them with his beetle-black eyes.

"The more the merrier!" Dumbledore exclaimed, scooting his chair over in a show of surprising nimbleness for a man of his apparent age.

Hagrid dragged a chair over from a neighboring table and squeezed himself between Dumbledore and Snape, causing everyone at the already-crowded table to squish even closer together.

Harry was practically invading Daisy's space in an attempt to keep a proper distance from Snape, who had gone from looking mutinous to downright murderous. Hagrid seemed blissfully unaware of his companion's glare.

The silence was becoming strained once more.

"So, what brings you to our lovely winter wonderland, Potters?" Dumbledore asked. "Minerva tells me you moved here from Surrey. That's quite the change in climate, I must say!"

At the word "climate" Mum and Dad visibly perked up.

"That's exactly why we're here, Mr. Dumbledore. Lily and I are climatologists," Dad said. "We study weather patterns and Hogsmeade has the most fascinating microclimate we've ever encountered."

The waitress came back with their drinks just then, and in the confusion, Harry was the only one who noticed the significant dark looks exchanged by McGonagall and Dumbledore.

On Dumbledore's suggestion, everyone ordered the pot roast, which was, indeed, excellent. Mum and Dad had explained exactly what a "climatologist" was ("a scientist who studies weather patterns! It's a fascinating field but it's not all storm chasing!" Mum laughed). Harry tucked into his food and mostly ignored Mum and Dad's expounding. He'd heard it all before, anyway, and he had the distinct impression that McGonagall, Snape, Hagrid, and even Dumbledore were only listening to be polite.

Harry had just finished his meal and was considering asking Lucy if he could have her carrots (she despised carrots and said so loudly and often) when the rest of the room suddenly went quiet. It was as if some spell of silence had been cast upon the inn.

Harry had his back to the door, but he saw Dumbledore's expression go carefully neutral. McGonagall's lips pursed in distaste, and Hagrid's jolly expression darkened. Snape's face only became even more sour, if that were possible. Harry exchanged a look with Daisy, who was just as puzzled as he was, and though he was curious, he didn't dare turn around.

Mum and Dad were still rambling on about the weather, oblivious, and thus (ironically) didn't notice the change in atmosphere.

"Well, if it isn't our newest citizens," a sly, silky voice said from directly behind Harry.

Harry felt a chill run down his spine, memories of a face with burning eyes and a dark shadow in the garden rising to the forefront of his mind. He turned to see who was speaking.

Behind him was a tall, pale man with long platinum-blond hair and cold grey eyes. A woman stood beside him, her hair was a warmer shade of blonde but her eyes were just as cold and grey. She would've been pretty if it weren't for the sneer of disdain she wore. A boy roughly Harry's age rounded out the group. He had the same cold, pale features as the man and woman. Harry wondered if the three were siblings.

Dad had looked over with his mouth still full of pot roast. He swallowed visibly. "Hello," he said. "I'm James Potter and this is my wife Lily, our daughters Lucy and Daisy, and our son Harry."

The pale man's eyes lingered on Harry for a bit longer than Harry was comfortable with. Finally, he smiled. It was a cold and chilling thing.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy, and this is my wife Narcissa and my son Draco." Malfoy said, gesturing to the blonde woman and pale boy in turn.

Harry mentally revised his opinion, but they still looked very much alike.

"Well Lucius, I'd invite you to dine with us, but as you can see, our table is already quite crowded," Dumbledore said genially.

"Quite alright, Dumbledore," Malfoy said, with a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. "I just thought it would be polite to formally introduce myself to the newcomers."

The silence that followed after was tense and rife with an unpleasantness Harry couldn't define.

"We're very lucky to have had such a warm welcome in such a cold village!" Dad said, almost desperately.

There was a beat where everyone looked at each other, and then Hagrid boomed out a laugh. Dumbledore chuckled and even McGonagall cracked a smile. Snape looked even more sour than ever.

"Quite," Malfoy said. "It was lovely to meet you, and I'm sure we'll be seeing you around."

Malfoy cast one last, unreadable look at Harry, and then swept off with his wife and son in tow. Harry couldn't help but notice the conversation just stopped when the Malfoys drew near, only to resume again once they'd passed.

The people of the inn seemed almost afraid of Malfoy, and Harry couldn't figure out why. Other than he and his family being generally snooty and unpleasant. Maybe that's all it was, but Harry couldn't help but feel a chill creep up his spine.

The conversation at their table didn't resume until after the Malfoys took up residence at the far end of the inn. A small coterie of followers descended upon them, and the rest of the crowd gradually returned to their previous level of noise.

"Alright, I'll bite. Who was that Malfoy fellow?" Mum asked.

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged significant looks.

"Lucius Malfoy is a minor noble, the descendant of the lord who used to live in Hogwarts castle," Dumbledore supplied.

Lucy perked up visibly at that. "There's a castle?" she chimed in.

Lucy had a love for all things medieval, though her interest tended towards weapons and implements of torture.

"Indeed there is," Dumbledore said, with the air of a man who loved nothing more than to teach people new things. “But no one has dared venture there in many, many years.” 

"Can we see it?" Lucy asked, excited. She then turned to Dad and gave him her best puppy-eyes, which she knew he was weak against. "Please, Dad?"

"Er," Dad started.

"I'm afraid it is quite inaccessible now, because of all the snow and ice," Dumbledore said.

"Then absolutely not," Mum said.

Harry could see the gears turning in Lucy's mind. She was going to see that castle up close whether it was allowed or not, now that she knew of its existence. Harry only wondered if she'd go alone or if she'd try to rope Daisy and himself into going too. He resigned himself to going along anyway, because he was rather curious too. He hadn't seen a castle when they were coming into the valley, but there had been a dark stretch of trees further up the mountain. Harry supposed the castle must be in there somewhere.

~*~*~*~

The next few days were filled with even more unpacking and putting away of things. Mum had decided that they needed to get a new sofa, as the old one had numerous curry stains from nights where Dad let them eat in the living room while watching television when Mum was working late. This sparked an argument, naturally, because then Dad brought up that she should've decided that before they made the move and brought the sofa with them.

At this point Harry decided the video shelf was quite organized enough and sneaked past them into the foyer, the sounds of their bickering following after. He knew how it would go, they'd bicker, make up, and then disappear into their bedroom for half an hour. The Potter kids all knew to make themselves scarce at that point, and Harry didn't want to be in the sitting room (which was adjacent to Mum and Dad's bedroom) and test just how soundproof the walls were.

He'd just escaped into the kitchen where Daisy was putting away various pots and pans while Lucy was sat at the table scribbling furiously in a spiral-bound notebook, next to a snack which went largely ignored.

"Mum and Dad are having a bicker in the sitting room," Harry said as a warning.

"Eww they're too old for that," Lucy said, wrinkling her nose.

"Thanks for the warning, Harry," Daisy said, putting away the last pan from the box.

Harry rummaged through the fridge, looking for something to eat. He settled on some cold chicken and a handful of grapes.

He sat down at the table by Lucy, who threw an arm around protectively around her notebook without even looking up at Harry. “Don’t you dare look. It’s private,” she hissed. 

“I don’t care what you write in your little diary, Lu,” Harry said, plucking a grape off the bunch and popping it in his mouth. 

Harry glanced towards Daisy as she pulled another box over and cut the tape holding it closed.

"Have you even helped Daisy at all?" He asked her in an undertone.

"I'm supervising," Lucy said, not even looking up from her writing.

"Uh huh."

"She's done nothing but write in her stupid notebook all morning," Daisy complained from her position on the floor.

"She's lying! I've been helping! I'm just taking a well-deserved break!" Lucy sniffed.

"Right," Daisy said, rolling her eyes.

"I put away the stew pot!"

"Yes, you put away one thing, got angry with me when I said above the stove is not a good place for it, and then sat down at the table in a huff and haven't lifted a finger since," Daisy retorted.

Harry, sensing another screaming match imminent, decided now was a good time to make another escape. Since he didn't feel like locking himself up in his room, he thought a walk sounded like a better idea.

He slipped from the kitchen into the foyer to collect his coat and boots, the beginnings of a row between his sisters starting behind him, and an ominous silence from the sitting room.

The day was surprisingly sunny. The sky was the most clear and blue he'd ever seen it (granted, they'd only been in Hogsmeade a few days) and the sun glinted dazzlingly off the snow which covered everything in a thick white blanket. If Harry didn't know it was August, he'd have almost expected to see wreaths on doors and garland on porch railings.

A village that was eternally trapped in winter. Mum and Dad were excited to start doing field work, mapping out the edges of it, taking readings and all that, but to Harry it was just another village. It was weird, yes, but not very exciting, really.

His boots crunched through the snow as he wandered aimlessly, taking in the sights. He hadn't had much of a chance to get away from everything. He still needed to call Ron and email Hermione, he thought with another stab of guilt. The computer and dial-up connection were one of the first things Mum and Dad had seen to, since they used the computer for their weather... things.

Harry's feet took him further down the road almost of their own accord while his mind wandered. He found himself at the door to Three Broomsticks. He briefly entertained the idea of going in for a bite to eat but then again, he wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone. The Three Broomsticks was almost always busy, and since he was a new face he'd end up the center of attention by default.

So Harry gave the inn a wide berth, and walked on. He took in his surroundings, the trees were almost all pine, and still very green. The only trees that weren't pine were old husks that were long dead from the cold, and had most of their branches snapped off. He stopped and puzzled over one such tree for a moment, only to realize that of course the trees couldn't survive in a place where spring never came.

Harry looked around himself, really looked. All the leafy-type trees (what were they called again? Decidious?) seemed to be dead. The piney-type trees were still green, however, and only thickened as they climbed in a dark wave up the side of the mountain. He was sure Hermione would have some insight as to why the pines could survive, if he bothered to ask her.

He'd been avoiding looking directly at the mountain, but now, as his eyes followed the trees, he couldn't tear his gaze away. It's not that he'd never seen mountains before, even if most of them in Britain weren't as impressive as this one. There was no reason to feel so uneasy about it, he told himself. It was just a normal mountain, and he was being stupid. 

He squinted, looking for evidence of the castle that Dumbledore had mentioned. He was sure that Lucy was, even now, planning an expedition to find it the moment Mum and Dad were both out of the house for the day. It was an inevitability, so Harry figured he might as well find it himself, in the name of making it easier on everyone when Lucy decided to satisfy her curiosity. Maybe they'd take a look around and she'd lose interest quickly, or at least, that's what Harry hoped. 

Harry stopped in the shadow of a large old scots pine. His wandering had taken him some ways away from the village proper, and up a bit of a rise that continued on up the mountain. The village really did look like a Christmas card from up here. The houses were all made of stone and wood, most with thatched roofs, but some with slate.

There was a church and a building that Harry knew to be the small greengrocer. The post office, the book shop, the butcher shop, plenty of houses. 

A large mansion sprawled on the opposite end of the town from where he stood, some distance from the mountain. He supposed that was where the Malfoys lived. From his vantage point he could see something being constructed on the opposite side of the village, but yet removed from the manor house. He couldn't tell what it was, or who would even want to build something here, but he shrugged it off. Last night at the inn, there had been mention of some project Lucius Malfoy had in the works, but Harry had mostly just tuned out the conversation.

Harry shivered as the wind picked up, cold and cutting through his coat. The sky had begun to cloud over too, heralding another bout of snow.

He was just about to head back home when the wind kicked up even harder, causing a flurry of snow to swirl around him. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as it battered at his face.

"You must be new," A smooth voice said from directly behind him.

Harry whipped around, still awkwardly trying to clear his face of snow.

Before him stood a tall man. Or boy rather, Harry thought, squinting through his water-smudged glasses. The stranger was tall and dark-haired, and was of an ambiguous age that could've been anywhere from late teens to early twenties.

He was incredibly handsome, Harry thought, a nervous flutter making itself known in his belly.

"Hi," Harry said, feeling very wrong-footed all of a sudden.

He took his glasses off and wiped them on his coat, but that only made the smudges worse.

The handsome boy seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

"Er. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. My family just moved here," he tried.

"I never would've guessed," the strange boy said mildly, with a smirk.

"Right. That must be obvious, sorry," Harry said, feeling the tell-tale warmth that crept from his cheeks and down his neck. He must be as red as a ripe tomato by now.

"It's alright," the stranger said, "We don't get many newcomers in the village."

"I imagine you don't, what with all the..." Harry trailed off, gesturing at the snow. Realizing too late he might've been a bit rude, he added, "Sorry."

The stranger only smiled at him and Harry's insides felt as if they were squirming.

He had managed to fish out a bit of sleeve from the cuff of his coat and wipe his glasses down. Unfortunately there was no elegant way to do that, so he just grimaced at the stranger apologetically.

He put his glasses on, and, with a sinking feeling, realized the boy was even more handsome than he'd initially thought. And perhaps older than he'd thought, though it was hard to judge. His face was deceptively youthful. Immaculately-styled hair, high cheekbones, and eyes so dark they looked almost black.

Harry had a fleeting memory of burning red eyes in a fireplace but banished it quickly.

"So, er. You live here?" Harry asked, realizing as he said it how much of a stupid question that was.

The boy only smirked at him again.

"Right, sorry, of course you do," Harry was sure he was redder than he'd ever been. "How uh. Long have you lived here?" Harry tried again.

"All my life."

"Ah."

The boy graced him with an indecipherable look. "Most people have lived here all their lives," he said. "You'll find very few who moved here willingly, so your family is something of an oddity."

"Right," Harry said. "Mum and Dad study weather for a living so when they heard about a place where it's always winter..." He trailed off, meaningfully.

"I see," the boy said.

There was a silence between them while the wind howled among the desolate pines, kicking up flurries of snow while soft, fat flakes fell from the sky. The boy stepped closer, into Harry's space. Harry shifted, uncomfortably aware of the boy's proximity.

"Well, I hope you and your family like it here," the boy said, his voice full of meaning, and dark eyes boring into Harry as if he could strip the secrets from his very soul. "Because people who move here find it very difficult to leave."

Harry was mesmerized by that soft voice, pinned in place by those dark eyes. He gulped.

"I should... I should be getting back..."

"Of course, " the stranger said. "Oh where are my manners? You've told me your name but I've yet to tell you mine." Then the stranger smiled in a way that made Harry feel simultaneously hot and cold. There was a hint of danger in that flash of white teeth and a promise of excitement.

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle," he said, holding a hand out.

Harry took the proffered hand. It was cold, so very cold.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter." 

"N-nice to meet you too, Tom," Harry stammered. His hand tingled.

"I'm very sure I'll be seeing you around," Tom said, levelling another devastating smile at him.

Harry shivered with more than just the cold.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, eloquently.

And just like that, Tom was gone, and Harry was left cold, confused, and dusted with a fresh powdering of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three will be out when I'm finished ~~agonizing over~~ editing it.


	3. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was almost a month. whoops! hopefully the next won't take as long. though i do still have a halloween fic to finish...
> 
> this is where we earn the "M" rating, folks. ;)
> 
> the chapter header was made by the same artist who did the others.

_Stinging pellets of snow pelted Harry as he struggled through waist-high drifts. The narrow path along the mountainside was treacherous with ice, but he kept on._

_Wicked laughter carried on the cold wind. Harry ignored it._

_The snow picked up, a roaring maelstrom of white that stung his face and clung to his hair and eyelashes. He'd lost his glasses somewhere, but there were more important things to worry about right now._

_He would save everyone._

_His parents, his sisters, the village._

_Even Tom._

_Especially Tom._

_Harry was almost there. He reached the place where the path turned and widened into what would have been a meadow were it not covered in hundreds of years’ worth of snow. At the upper end, a dark opening yawned in the side of the mountain._

_He was close. So close._

_An ominous rumble sounded from above; the tightly-packed snow on the mountainside shifted and began to give way. Rivulets of snow and ice skittered down with a snake-like hiss._

_Then arms circled around Harry's waist, and he couldn't move._

_"Did you think you could save me?" Tom said, directly into Harry's ear, low and intimate. "Did you think I_ needed _saving?" There was a cold, cruel edge to Tom's voice, and Harry's resolve melted away as if by magic._

_Of course Tom didn't need saving. Why would he? Harry sagged back into Tom's cold embrace._

_"Good boy," Tom whispered, as the avalanche engulfed them._

_'Next time,' was his last thought before he gave in to the darkness._

~*~*~*~

Harry woke in a cold sweat, panting. His heart raced like he’d run a marathon. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his body, flushed and freezing at the same time. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and squinted at the digital alarm clock on his nightstand. 3:32 am. The harder he tried to remember the dream, the more the details of it slipped away like water through his fingers.

They were definitely getting stranger.

Harry’s eyes were drawn towards the window. It was too dark to see the mountain, but he could feel it looming just beyond sight.

~*~*~*~

The next day, Harry threw himself into organizing and reorganizing his room until it looked the way he wanted it to. Mum had measured the window frame and bought a shade for it, upon Harry's request ("I'm not sure why, all you can see from here is the mountain. It's a lovely view!").

When it became clear that there was nothing left to unpack or rearrange, Harry flopped down on his bed. It was dark with the shade down, and all Harry had was the lamp on his nightstand to illuminate the room.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, Harry replayed the memory of meeting Tom for the hundredth (or perhaps thousandth) time. He flushed at the thought, sure he'd made a complete idiot of himself in front of the older boy. Which of course, opened the floodgates for a whole host of other, much more confusing thoughts, though he resolutely pushed them away. 

Tonight they were going to the Three Broomsticks for dinner. Anxiety settled stone-like in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t ready to face Tom again so soon, even if there was no guarantee he’d be there. 

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face, dislodging his glasses and mussing his hair.

His downward-spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Lucy bursting into his room, not bothering to knock.

"Oi!"

"Mum says to be downstairs in ten minutes," Lucy said, ignoring his exclamation. She gazed around his room, unimpressed. Harry suspected she was mentally measuring up the place for her things when he moved out.

"Right," Harry said.

Lucy said nothing, but climbed onto the bed, over Harry, and to the window. She yanked at the shade, causing it to violently roll up with a loud flapping sound.

"HEY!" Harry yelled, shoving himself upright. "I have that closed for a reason!"

Lucy gave him a withering look. "I just wanted to see the view from this room, relax."

"Well you've seen it, now leave."

Lucy snorted. "What's the big deal?" She peered out the window, staring at the mountain. Her rarely-worn glasses glinted in the afternoon light.

Harry had a thought. "You're not still thinking of going up there to find that castle, are you?"

His sister favored him with a suspiciously innocent smile. "What makes you think that? Mum and Dad said no, and I would _never_ do anything they told me not to do."

Harry said nothing, only raising a skeptical eyebrow.

The silence dragged on for several long moments.

Finally, Lucy cracked.

"Alright, alright. I'm still going. It’s a castle, Harry! An abandoned castle! It’s just sitting there, waiting for someone to find all its secrets!” she exclaimed, eyes gleaming with excitement. "You can't tell me you're not even a _little_ curious.”

Harry _was_ curious, and if he were being honest with himself, the thought of exploring an abandoned castle did sound exciting.

And maybe if he went up there, he could finally convince himself it was an ordinary mountain after all. 

"Lu—," he began.

Lucy cut him off. "You're not talking me out of this, Harry. I'm going, and there's no way you can stop me."

Harry sighed, recognizing that look she got when she was determined to get her own way, no matter the consequences. She’d already made her decision, and so had he. 

"You’re not going up there by yourself.” 

"You can't watch me all the time," Lucy said, trying a different tack. "And Mum and Dad are starting with their research soon and will be out of the house. Plenty of opportunity for me to sneak away."

"That's not what I said—”

But Lucy was on a roll. "And if you think I'm just going to forget the whole thing—what?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm saying I'll go with you."

That brought Lucy up short. Then, she smiled. It was more a "cat who got the canary" type of smirk than a true smile. Harry abruptly realized this was what she'd been angling for the whole time.

"I knew you'd see things my way, big brother," Lucy said, suddenly all saccharine sweetness.

"Right..."

"Anyway, we'd better get downstairs or Mum'll start shouting," Lucy said brightly, clambering off the bed with no regard for her knees and elbows digging into various parts of Harry's body in the process.

She paused at the door. "By the way, Dad mentioned he and Mum were going to take a drive around the valley tomorrow to see how far the snow goes." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

Harry said nothing to that.

Lucy left, letting the door swing closed behind her. Her parting words hanging ominously in the air.

Harry sighed again, feeling rather like he'd been expertly manipulated by a thirteen-year-old.

~*~*~*~

It had been warmer than usual that morning and about half the snow had melted away. It was as if the sultry warmth of mid-August was finally winning against the unnatural cold. But the afternoon had brought more clouds, as well as a drop in temperature.

Now, all the half-melted snow had frozen into a treacherous crust of ice. Harry had almost slipped and fallen on his arse more than once during the walk to the inn. He hadn't considered it before, but since the village was not buried under five hundred years worth of snow, it made sense that some of it would have to melt away sometimes.

Lucy was, strangely, still wearing her glasses, and gazing intently at the mountain. Plotting and planning, do doubt. Harry still had a hard time looking at it, even though he felt stupid for having such an irrational aversion.

He looked away, the back of his neck prickling as if he were being watched. He resisted the urge to sprint the last few yards to the safety of the inn.

They reached the door as the first fat snowflakes began to fall. The murmur of conversation stopped like it had last time as the Potter family entered the inn. This time, Dad made a beeline right for the table Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Hagrid were sat at.

Dumbledore looked up at them, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses. "Ah, Potters! Please join us."

They must've been expected, because there were five empty chairs around the large table. Dad took the seat by Dumbledore, while Mum sat by Snape, leaving the three chairs between them for Harry, Daisy, and Lucy. It was still a bit of a tight fit, but they managed.

After a very filling and delicious dinner of shepherd's pie, Harry felt much more content with the world. Amazing what a good meal could do for one's mood. He pushed his plate away and leaned back in the wooden chair, gazing around the large room with interest. There, in the far corner, the Malfoy family were holding court. Aside from the few people gathered near, the rest of the inn’s patrons seemed to avoid them—there was a clear line between the Malfoys and their followers and everyone else.

The youngest Malfoy looked up at the same time Harry happened to be staring at them. The disdain on the boy’s face was clear from across the room, and Harry quickly averted his eyes. Mum always told them not to judge a book by its cover, but Harry had the distinct feeling the Malfoy family were unpleasant people.

Harry turned his gaze to the rest of the room. (He wasn’t looking for Tom. He _wasn’t._ ) Unlike his first impression, there did seem to be kids his own age here. A round-faced, brown-haired boy was sat at a table next to a rather formidable old woman. The old woman wore a green dress and had a hat with what looked like a stuffed vulture perched atop it. The boy looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. 

At the bar sat a man with longish white hair, strange, bulging eyes, and a bit of a vague look. Beside him was a girl who looked about Harry's own age, with the same vague eyes and pale hair.

Next to them were a sandy-haired boy and a tired-looking woman with dark hair. Both seemed a bit sullen. Harry noted a bottle of wine between them, which they appeared to be sharing. Harry made a mental note to ask for some wine the next time they came in here.

(There was no sign of Tom, and Harry didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.) 

The sound of a wooden chair scraping across the floor brought Harry's attention back to their table. 

Hagrid had gotten up, and was stretching. "Well, time ter go. From th' look a those clouds this afternoon, I'll be runnin' till morning."

Mum, who had been successful in engaging Snape in a conversation, looked questioningly at Hagrid. "What do you mean, Rubeus?" 

Hagrid grinned, his beetle-black eyes crinkling, and puffed his chest out proudly. "I'm the driver o' the Hogwarts Express!" 

There was a long pause. 

Dad cleared his throat. "Erm. The Hogwarts Express?" 

"He means he drives the gritter," Snape said, with a curl of his lip. "And that's what he named it." 

"Ah," Dad said, nodding. 

"I suppose that means you have a job all year 'round?" Mum asked. 

"Yep. 'Bout th' only good thing to come a this whole business is th' job security," Hagrid said. "'Specially when _he's_ in a mood and decides ter bury th' village un'er three feet a snow." 

"Hush now, Hagrid!" McGonagall snapped.

Everyone at the table went deathly quiet, even the background noise seemed to fade away. Harry could've sworn you could hear a pin drop.

“He?” Mum asked, finally breaking the silence.

McGonagall and Snape looked to Dumbledore, whose face was uncharacteristically serious.

"I suppose it's better that you find out sooner rather than later," Dumbledore began, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "Do you recall how I said Hogwarts castle was the home to a lord, long ago?"

Mum and Dad exchanged looks.

"Yes..?" Dad said, tentatively.

"Well, you see," Dumbledore said. "It's still technically true."

"Wait," Mum said. "Someone still lives there?"

"Someone dwells within the castle, yes," Dumbledore said.

"I thought you said no one could get up there because of the ice?" 

"And that Malfoy is descended from them—" 

"What does this have to do with Hagrid's job?" 

Dumbledore held his hand up, and Mum and Dad quieted instantly.

"I will cover all your questions in order. There is indeed someone in the castle, though I'm not sure 'living' is the best word to describe what he does.”

Harry looked over at Daisy and Lucy. Daisy wore a slight frown, while Lucy's eyes glittered in interest.

“The ice does not trouble him. In fact, I’d say he rather likes it,” Dumbledore continued. “Lucius Malfoy is the rightful descendant of the lord who once lived in the castle, but his family line was evicted more than five hundred years ago. The current occupant is perhaps related, but only distantly.”

Harry cast another glance over to where the Malfoys were. They certainly acted like they still owned the place. 

“And as for Hagrid’s job, well,” Dumbledore gestured in a vague way towards one of the windows, where snow was piling up on the sill. “It’s fairly self-explanatory, is it not?”

Now, Dumbledore leaned forward, once more folding his hands in front of him and directing his twinkling blue gaze at Mum and Dad. "Tell me, Potters, what have you heard of this village? That it was permanently winter here, yes?"

"Yes, that's why we're here," Dad said.

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. And have you heard anything else? Anything that is rumored to be the cause of our unique weather patterns?"

Mum and Dad exchanged glances.

"Only that this village was supposedly under a curse—which is absolutely ridiculous, of course, who would believe such a thing?" Mum said, with a little laugh.

...Which quickly died once she saw how grim McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, and Hagrid had become.

"Oh really now. You don't actually believe that, do you?" Mum said, a little desperately.

The silence from the rest of the table was telling.

“Lily...” Snape began.

“There’s a scientific explanation for this phenomenon and we’re going to find it,” Dad said, firmly.

With a wooden scrape of the chair, he stood up, and Mum followed suit. “It was lovely talking with you all again, but we really must be going,” she said. 

Harry and his sisters stood to leave, but as he was shrugging on his coat, Dumbledore caught his eye. The old man’s gaze was grave, staring at Harry as if he were trying to warn him about something. Harry did not miss the split second Dumbledore’s eyes darted towards Lucy, and then back to him, full of meaning.

“Harry,” Mum said. 

Harry cast one backwards glance at the table before following his family out into the cold, snowy night.

~*~*~*~

_Moonlight oozed in around the window shade, casting Harry’s bedroom in an uncanny greenish light. In the next room, he could hear Lucy complaining her game was dead, and that none of the batteries she put in were working. Her voice was distorted, as if it were coming from underwater._

_Harry was lying in bed, covered only by a thin sheet. The weight of it pinned him to the mattress. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe for the pressure on his chest._

_Mum’s voice floated up from downstairs. “The fireplace isn’t working. I don’t understand how a fireplace can be broken.”_

_Daisy spoke up. “We need to catch a falling star to reignite it.”_

_“That’s a good idea, Daisy,” Dad said._

_“We need to go now, while the Perseids are still happening,” Daisy added._

_He heard Lucy thumping down the stairs. “Will a falling star work on my game?”_

_“I don’t see why not,” Dad said. “The theory is sound.”_

_“Get your coats on, girls,” Mum said._

_Harry still could not move. He listened helplessly to the sounds of his family about to leave. He had to warn them! The stars weren’t what they seemed._

_The door shut with an ominous thunk that reverberated throughout the house. Harry could feel it echoing in his bones._

_He was alone._

_His shallow breaths misted visibly in the cold air._

_The greenish light leaking around the window shade brightened and the edges of it started to smoulder. Harry’s breathing quickened, his heart racing as if he’d just run a marathon._

_The the shade went up in a flash of green flame and the ashes fell softly to the bed, like snow. Frost bloomed in lacy, crystalline patterns across the exposed pane._

_A streak of light shot past outside, throwing Harry’s bedroom into stark relief. A falling star, Harry thought. But even after the light passed, the shadows stayed inky-dark. Harry’s eyes were drawn against his will to the corner of the room, which was darker still than anything else._

_Two pinpoints of glowing red blinked into existence in the center of the darkness._

_He was no longer alone._

_His heart fluttered like a bird in the cage of his ribs, though in fear or anticipation, he didn’t know._

_The mass of shadow detached from the wall, coalescing into the form of a tall person as it crossed the small room. Moonlight flooded in through the window, revealing a familiar curl of dark hair, pale skin, and high cheekbones._

_“Hello, Harry,” Tom said, smiling that wicked smile at him. “I told you I’d be seeing you again.”_

_A shiver shot down Harry’s spine. “You,” he croaked out, having finally found his voice._

_“Yes. Me,” Tom said._

_“How?”_

_But Tom only smiled, his dark eyes glinting red as if there were embers bedded in their depths. He took a step closer._

_Harry couldn’t move at all, and was excruciatingly aware of how vulnerable he was. The sheet was too thin, and it draped over every line of his body. His very naked body, Harry realized._

_Tom must’ve realized it too, if his hungry gaze was any indication._

_All at once Harry wasn’t cold anymore. He was warm, burning up under the intensity of Tom’s stare._

_Tom loomed over him, all shadow and danger wrapped up in a too-handsome face. He reached out and brushed the back of his cold hand over Harry’s cheek._

_“W-what are you doing?” Harry stammered, his heart thundering so loud he was sure the whole world could hear it._

_“I’m merely giving you what you desire,” Tom said, trailing his hand from Harry’s cheek down his jawline to wrap icy fingers around his throat. Not squeezing, only a warning. A promise._

_Harry swallowed, hard._

_Tom’s hand continued its downward path, mapping out the ridge of Harry’s collarbone. Cold fingers explored the hollow of his throat, before sliding down to his chest, coming to a stop directly over his fluttering heart._

_Then, Tom flashed a wicked grin and brushed his thumb over Harry’s erect nipple. The shock of his touch jolted like fire down Harry’s every nerve, hot and electric._

_Whatever spell had kept him paralyzed lifted, and he moaned, arching up into Tom’s hand._

_“Look at how you respond to me,” Tom whispered, low and soft, like a secret between them. “I’ve barely touched you, and yet…”_

_Harry gasped as Tom’s hand traced further down, pushing aside the thin sheet as it went. Harry was hot, flesh burning in sharp contrast to the freezing touch. Tom’s fingers left a trail of frosty fire in their wake as he made his agonizingly slow journey down Harry’s stomach, over his hip bone, and finally coming to rest on his thigh._

_Tom leaned in close, his breath caressing the shell of Harry’s ear. “What do you want, Harry?”_

_“Please,” Harry panted out, wanton and desperate._

_“Please what?” Tom asked, his thumb rubbing circles around the top of Harry’s thigh, dangerously close to where the sheet tented between his legs. “I want you to_ say _it, darling.”_

~*~*~*~

Harry woke, arching, gasping, and painfully hard. He shoved his hand down into his boxers and grasped his aching cock. Only three strokes and he came, biting his lip to keep from crying out.

Harry lay there, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead, warmer than he’d been in days. He reached down next to the bed and groped around for something to clean up the mess. He found an old sock and wiped his hand on it, then he balled it up and chucked it into the hamper.

The clock at his bedside read 4:13 am. He flopped back down, panting.

The dream… he couldn’t recall exactly what it had been about (or rather, he DID know what it was about, as all the heat rushed to his face once more). But as before, the details slipped maddeningly away.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, and scanned the room, looking for hints, or something to jog his memory. Something about the moonlight spilling across the floor? But no, it was beyond reach, and getting fainter as every moment went by. 

It took him too long to realize why his room was so bright.

The shade was gone.

His heart skipped a beat.

The window was bare as if there’d never been anything covering it at all.

Delicate, feathery frost crawled along the edges of the glass, reaching towards a cluster of ice glittering in the center. Harry sat up to get a better look at it.

From his angle, the ice resolved into words, and they said:

_“You came for me, and now I’ll come for you, Harry.”_


	4. The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!! not quite six months since the last update! that's...really horrible and i am so sorry, but this chapter gave me difficulties. 
> 
> the NEXT update will be...definitely less than six months from now. yes.

 

Harry did not get back to sleep that night.

In fact, he couldn’t stand being in his own bedroom anymore.

A closer inspection of the window revealed that the metal things that had held the shade in place were melted, running down the sides of the window frame in metallic rivulets and frozen again.

Through the glass beyond, the mountain gazed hungrily at him.

So he took his pillow and the duvet from his bed and made his way downstairs. He’d spend the night on the damned sofa.

Once he was in the living room he was cold again, and he cursed himself for not at least putting on socks as he tucked his feet under his blanket.

This window didn’t have a view of the mountain, but Harry still felt too exposed. He got up and shifted the sofa around so its back was to the window. Lying down, he couldn’t be seen by anyone or anything outside the house.

He briefly thought about starting a fire, but the memory of a face in the flames made his blood run cold. Also, Mum had not been successful in starting one since that first night.

Harry curled miserably underneath his blanket, scrunched down so that no part of his body could be seen from any window, and stayed that way until morning.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It was Saturday.

Mum was packing various instruments into the car, as well as extra blankets, batteries, and torches. Dad was making sandwiches for their lunches.

Harry, remembering what Lucy had said the day before, watched with resignation. He was tired from a cold and sleepless night, and feeling rather embarrassed by his fear now that it was daylight. It must’ve been a dream. It _had_ to have been a dream.

Though, he still hadn’t gone back up to his room, opting instead to pull extra clothing from the clothes horse in the bathroom. Thankfully it was dry.

Lucy, of course, was holed up in her and Daisy’s room, and had bullied Daisy out of it.

Daisy was on the family computer, playing a game that looked like connect the dots but with stars against a night sky. 

Harry was sat on the sofa, pretending to watch television.

Mum came back in, pink-cheeked and brushing snow off her coat.

“James!” she called. “I’ve got everything packed!”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Lils!” Dad’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

Mum turned to Harry. “Make sure the girls don’t get into any trouble, Harry,” she said, half-teasing (for Daisy) and half-serious (Lucy).

Harry nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Mum.

“Well, are we ready?” Dad asked.

Harry glanced over. Dad had a full-on picnic basket and two thermoses of either coffee or tea.

“Harry, you’re in charge. You’re the man of the house for a few hours,” Dad said, teasingly.

Harry rolled his eyes at that. Dad said the lamest things, sometimes.

“LUCY! WE’RE LEAVING!” Mum shouted up the stairs.

“OKAY!” was Lucy’s response, muffled by the door.

Daisy went over to give them each a hug. “Drive safely!”

“The car has new tires, we should be fine,” Dad told her.

And with that, they went out into the cold day. Harry listened to the sound of the car starting and pulling out of the drive.

As soon as they were gone, Lucy tromped down the stairs. She was wearing a thick, woollen jumper, blue jeans, and those ugly knit socks Aunt Petunia had given her one Christmas. Everything was bulky and bulging in places—she’d clearly put on layers—and looked ready to go on an expedition to the Arctic.

Daisy glared suspiciously at Lucy.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?” she demanded.

“None of your business!” Lucy retorted, shrugging into her coat. “Come on, Harry.”

Daisy looked askance at Harry, who’d just gotten up from the sofa and switched off the television.

Daisy’s eyes darted between Harry and Lucy. “Not you too,” she mumbled.

Harry gave her an apologetic shrug.

“Where are you going, then?”

“Out,” Lucy stated, struggling into her winter boots.

“We’re just going to explore a bit,” Harry said.

Daisy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Explore where?”

“Oh, you know…” Harry hedged, gesturing vaguely. “Around.”

There was a very long pause. The only sound was Lucy bundling up.

“You’re going up to that stupid castle, aren’t you?” Daisy said.

“Yes, and _you_ aren’t invited!” Lucy spat.

“Didn’t Mister Dumbledore say that someone was still living up there?”

That brought Harry up short. Mister Dumbledore _had_ said that. He glanced over at Lucy, who had her lips pursed in thought.

“Lu—” Harry started.

“I don’t care, I’m still going!”

Of course a little trespassing wouldn’t faze her. Especially not after all the stories Sirius told them about his and Dad’s adventures when they were kids.

“I don’t really want to get in trouble,” Daisy said.

“You won’t, because you’re not coming with,” Lucy retorted.

“Why not? Maybe I want to see it too!”

“No! You said it was stupid!”

“Just because it’s stupid, doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it!”

Harry rather thought Daisy was reaching, there. But fifteen years of being an older brother had given him enough experience to know how to defuse a potential fight.

“Lu, it’s fine. Daisy can come, too,” he said.

“What!”

“I mean, if the guy in the castle calls the police, you know you can outrun her, right?” Harry said to Lucy.

“Hey!” Daisy shouted.

“Hmm, I guess that’s true,” Lucy conceded, scratching at her chin beneath the scarf. 

“Right,” Harry said, clapping his hands together. “That’s that, then.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

After dressing in several layers of the warmest clothing they had on hand, with Lucy impatiently tapping her foot the whole time, the three Potter siblings went out into the cold, wintery August day.

It was still snowing lightly. Small flakes drifted lazily down from a hazy, grey sky and danced on the cold breeze.

Hagrid had been right: there was a lot more new snow today. At least a foot of it, Harry reckoned. He must’ve been driving the gritter all night, because the roads were fairly clear.

“I hope Mum and Dad are careful,” Daisy fretted.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Harry reassured her. “Mum is good at driving in snow, remember?”

Lucy, already quite a ways ahead of them, turned around and shouted, “Oi! Get a move on!”

“Oh shut up!” Daisy shot back.

Lucy made a rude gesture at them which looked rather ridiculous with her gloved fingers.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Harry called.

“Uh yes?” Lucy said, producing a battered spiral-bound notebook from under her coat and waving it in the air. “I’ve been studying the lay of the land.”

Harry had some serious doubts about that.

“So where’s the castle, then?” Daisy asked. She looked around ostentatiously. “I don’t see it!”

“Well _obviously_ it’s on the mountain surrounded by those trees!” Lucy stated, pointing to where the dark green of the pines clustered thickly on the side of the mountain.

The very place Harry had been looking at right before he met Tom.

The thought of Tom made his face heat up, and he was glad he was wearing a thick scarf to hide his blushing.

Harry steeled himself and then actually _looked_ at the mountain.

It really did just look like an ordinary mountain. Maybe he’d finally get over his strange aversion to it.

Daisy and Lucy were still arguing, but it wasn’t a full-blown row, yet.

They trudged along the road leading towards the mountain, following the gentle slope upwards. The last house at the end of the lane looked abandoned, all boarded-up and rickety. Harry gave it a cursory glance, wondering what its story was.

Lucy strode ahead, and Daisy was keeping pace with her. Probably to prove she _could_ keep up.

Harry lingered behind. In the daylight, all his worries seemed to melt away to insignificance. The mountain was just a mountain. The strange weather was only a consequence of some weird microclimate thing, Mum and Dad would get to the bottom of it.

The dreams…Harry flushed again, his breath puffing out white and misty and fogging his glasses. Well, those were just dreams, even if all he could remember were hazy impressions of cold hands, red eyes, and pale skin.

He followed his sisters to the edge of the village feeling lighter than he had since the move.

The road ended in a tall pile of snow beyond the last house. Lucy had already scrambled up it and was lobbing snowballs at Daisy who was shrieking and lobbing them back. It wasn’t a fight, for once. They actually seemed to be having fun.

Harry caught up and was pelted with snowballs from both his sisters.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Harry hadn’t quite prepared himself for just how _much_ snow there would be outside of the village.

Neither had Lucy, from the look of it.

They made their way, puffing and struggling through snow that only got deeper as they went. The road wasn’t cleared beyond that last house, but it was obvious that there had once been one here. A narrow track wound into the dark curtain of evergreen forest just ahead of them.

At the edge of the forest, the Potter siblings stopped. It was gloomy; the snow caked thick on the boughs and blocking out most of the daylight.

A stirring of foreboding curled in Harry’s gut. A quick glance at Daisy proved that she, too, was having misgivings, her brow had a fretful crease and she was frowning. Even Lucy looked dubious now that she was seeing the forest up close.

A sudden gust of wind knocked the snow off one of the branches right above their heads. Daisy let out a small scream and shuffled backwards. Lucy rolled her eyes and brushed the snow from her red hair.

“It’s not too late to go back,” Harry offered in a hushed whisper, the words still sounding horrendously loud in the stillness.

Then, decisively, Lucy firmed her jaw and took a step into the forest.

Harry and Daisy had no choice but to follow.

The forest was deathly still, and strangely muffled. Here and there, clumps of snow would fall from the branches with a startlingly loud _THWUMP_ and cause one or more of them to startle.

The trees were large and close together, their boughs interlaced and the needles shockingly green. Harry wondered again if Hermione would have anything to say about that. Why the trees seemed to still live, frozen as they were. Not growing and not dying.

They walked in silence, none of them daring to speak, as if making a sound would bring disaster upon them all.

The road—trail really—through the woods was snow-covered but still clear of undergrowth.

They trudged on, following the winding track. The gentle slope became steeper quite quickly, and it wasn’t long before even Harry, who was fairly athletic, was gasping for breath. The cold stole the air from their lungs and puffed it out in gauzy clouds in front of their faces.

“Where is this castle, anyway?” Daisy huffed.

“Further up, obviously,” Lucy puffed.

There were no animal tracks here, either, as if all wildlife had fled long ago. Harry supposed that would make sense. Only humans would be stubborn enough to live somewhere perpetually winter-bound.

The woods were eerily quiet. Harry felt like he was intruding upon a sacred space. Even the quiet crunch of their footsteps sounded blasphemously loud.

If Harry thought climbing the mountain would make his anxiety towards it go away, he was wrong. With every step he took, he had to force himself to keep on. If only because he knew if he turned back, Daisy would too, and he absolutely would not let Lucy go up here by herself.

So he kept on, following Lucy as she forged a path in knee-deep snow.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A gradual transition from forest to not-forest? He certainly wasn’t prepared for what he saw after rounding a bend where the trees were particularly close together.

The castle was a ruin of stone and ice and looked like something out of a fairy tale.

Where the stone of the original building ended, ice continued up over it, creating dazzling spires which caught the weak light of the sun, shining through a hazy break in the clouds.

The effect was startling and beautiful. The sunlight filtered through the veil of cloud and set every errant snowflake glittering in the air.

Harry, Daisy, and even Lucy stood, transfixed at the sight.

Contrary to what Mister Dumbledore had said, the castle certainly didn’t _look_ lived-in.

“Wicked,” Lucy breathed.

Harry gazed up at the castle, a thousand nameless fears and desires warred within him. He was equally repulsed by and irrevocably drawn to it.

“It doesn’t look like anyone lives here at all,” Daisy said, echoing Harry’s earlier thoughts.

“That’s because that old man’s gone barmy. Obviously no one’s lived here in ages.” And with that, Lucy trudged out into the clearing, Daisy following in her wake.

Harry stood at the treeline, taking in every graceful, soft curve of snow and wickedly sharp icicle. The narrow windows were like a dozen eyes watching him, and even though, logically, he knew that no one could possibly still live here, he felt like he was naked before a crowd.

“Harry! Get your fuckin’ head out of your arse!” Lucy called back. Her voice carried clearly despite being barely above a whisper.

“Lucy!” Daisy hissed, cuffing Lucy over the head with her glove. “Language!”

Harry snapped out of his reverie. Right. Sisters. Sisters he promised Mum and Dad he’d keep an eye on.

He waded into the trench that Lucy had made and followed after.

The snow was much deeper here than in the forest without the trees to shelter the ground. The castle was nearly buried in snow, giving the appearance that the surrounding walls were fairly short. It was hard to say how deep the snow went, but judging by the seeming height of the walls, Harry reckoned it must’ve been several feet.

He was very aware he was walking over snow that could, at any time, pull him down and swallow him whole, trapping him in a grave of white.

That thought stopped him cold. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d had a dream where that exact thing happened.

Harry caught up with his sisters just as they neared the outer wall.

Lucy had stopped, and was considering the walls. While the snow rendered them shorter than they should’ve been, they still were too tall to climb over.

“Now what?” Daisy asked, after a good five minutes of silence.

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” Lucy muttered.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Daisy shot back.

Lucy gave Daisy a shove at that, and Daisy shoved back.

The sounds of their scuffle echoed across the clearing. Harry rolled his eyes at them as Lucy grabbed a handful of snow and pushed it into Daisy’s face.

He made his way to the wall, struggling through several years’ worth of snowfall and giving his brawling sisters a wide berth. The wall was made of tight-fitting, dark stones, cut in such a way they didn’t need mortar. Up close, he could see glittering bits of frost crystals lining the cracks. He brushed at the wall and his glove came away covered in sparkles.

Harry looked back towards the forest, judging the angle of the track they’d been following. He shuffled a bit to the left and felt along the wall near where the snowline ended. Following a hunch, he dug down through the snow against the wall until his fingers brushed against something. The thing was flat and jutted out from the wall a bit. He felt around until he found the edges, and then further still; a sloping curve downwards. A...what was it called? A keystone?

A shriek rang out across the clearing, echoing off the stone walls, unnaturally loud in the stillness.

Lucy and Daisy’s snow fight had escalated into a full-on snow war, complete with profanities and hair-pulling.

Harry, uncomfortably reminded that a huge mass of snow hung over their heads, ready to come tumbling down at any moment, waded over to them and pulled them apart.

He held his hand up to silence Lucy, red-faced and mutinous, before she could say anything. “I think I found a way in.”

She snapped to attention immediately, and shuffled along the track that Harry had left back to the wall.

Harry helped Daisy up from the snow. “We need to be quieter, we don’t want to trigger an avalanche,” he said in an undertone, and tilted his head pointedly in Lucy’s direction. Daisy rolled her eyes, but nodded in agreement, and then fruitlessly tried to wipe her glasses on her scarf.

They joined Lucy at the wall.

“Alright, how do you figure we get in?” she demanded, spinning around to face Harry.

Harry gestured to the hole he’d started digging. “I think the gate is under there.”

Lucy looked dubiously from the wall, to Harry, and back to the wall again. “Should’ve brought a bloody spade,” she muttered.

Even Daisy looked skeptical.

“Well? Do you have any better ideas? Because I’d love to hear them!” Harry said, throwing his arms wide.

“We could always go back..?” Daisy whispered, timidly.

“No fucking way! We came all this way to see the inside of the castle and we’re going to see it!” Lucy tried to stomp her foot in the snow but only succeeded in sinking down another three inches, rather ruining the effect.

Harry bit back a laugh, knowing that would only infuriate his sister further.

“Come on, if we all work together, we’ll get through in no time!” Harry said, placatingly.

Both Lucy and Daisy made a face at him for that, but soon enough, the three of them were digging away at the snow above where Harry found the stone thing.

They worked in silence, and the sun hid away behind the clouds once more. The snow picked up, slightly, a light powdery dust leaving a fresh coat over everything.

Harry didn’t want to think about what would happen if this wasn’t actually a gate. Or, more likely, if it _was_ a gate but it was sealed with no way to get through.

Lucy would have a tantrum that would bring all the snow on the mountain down upon their heads.

 

~*~*~*~

 

As luck would have it, they _were_ digging over a gateway, and the gate itself was not sealed.

In fact, it looked like it had warped and oozed into a mangled mass of iron, as if some great heat had melted it.

Harry stared at it, perplexed, once they’d uncovered enough. It was strange to see evidence that the frosty metal had once been hot enough to _melt_ when it was now mostly buried in snow. Harry was suddenly reminded of the shade on his window.

“Ha! I found a way through!” Lucy’s voice echoed triumphantly across the clearing.

Sure enough, the slagged metal gate gave way to a hole large enough to fit a small person. Lucy scraped at the snow on the other side of the gate with gloved fingers. Somehow, it must not have been as deep on the other side, and the snow gave way all at once, letting weak daylight spill through.

“Excellent,” Lucy breathed. She immediately wriggled through.

Daisy, red-cheeked and grinning, scrambled after her. “Oi, wait up!”

Harry shook himself from his thoughts and followed after Daisy. It was a tight squeeze for him—the arm of his coat caught on the jagged edge and tore. Once through the twisted metal, he slid down the snow drift on the other side.

Inside the walls, the castle was even more impressive than from the outside; ice and snow formed fantastical shapes that swirled and twisted and confused the eye. The entire courtyard was filled with maze-like ice formations. Harry had to blink several times so his sight would adjust.

“Oh wow,” Daisy breathed, from right next to him.

“Holy shit.” Lucy struggled to her feet and brushed the snow from her backside.

She went over to inspect one of the sharper ice formations.

“What could’ve caused this, you reckon?” Daisy whispered, staring at the wickedly sharp ice in awe.

“No idea,” Harry said.

“It doesn’t look natural…” Daisy trailed off, uncertain.

All at once, Mister Dumbledore’s words came back to Harry: _“_ _There is indeed someone in the castle, though I'm not sure 'living' is the best word to describe what he does.”_

Daisy was right; the ice formations did not look natural at all. But they didn’t exactly look man-made, either. There were chaotic spikes and spires and swirls, ranging from glass-clear to completely opaque white. Fresh snow blanketed some, softening the sharp edges, but also no doubt covering up hidden dangers.

And what was even more unsettling was the fact there was a clear, if winding, path where the snow was lesser. Almost as if the castle were inviting them to explore.

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a trap, somehow.

Lucy, of course, wasted no time following the path.

“Lucy, wait,” Harry started, but it was too late, she was already worming her way around the formations, headed for the castle itself.

“I’ve come this far and I’m not going back now!” Lucy’s voice echoed strangely off the ice.

Harry and Daisy had no choice but to follow her.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The path was not as treacherous as it seemed, and that only set Harry on edge even more. He couldn’t shake the feeling that _something_ was watching. He nervously glanced up. The castle might look abandoned, but the dozens of windows seemed to stare down at them, _at him_.

Daisy stayed close to Harry, and they were both hurrying to catch up to Lucy.

They only caught up to her at the towering double doors into the castle itself, which were firmly shut, and glazed over with ice.

Lucy kicked at the doors, sending chips of ice flying.

“Maybe we should go home? We’ve seen the castle,” Daisy said, gesturing. “There it is. It’s a very nice castle.”

“I’m not giving up until I’ve had a look around.”

“Do you really need to see the inside?”

_“Yes!”_

Harry fought down the urge to shout at both of them.

Lucy spun on her heel and pointed at Harry. “Help me up to that window, I’m going to break it and climb in that way.”

Harry glanced up. The closest window was still about ten feet above his head.

“Yeah, that’s really not going to work, Lu.”

“Maybe there’s another door?” Daisy said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. 

“If there is, it’s probably also frozen solid! Let’s just find a window to smash.”

“No! I don’t want to climb through a window!”

Harry stood in front of the doors and let his sisters’ argument wash over him. A sound, like a hum or a whisper, just below the threshold of hearing, was emanating from the doors. Or maybe from the stones of the castle itself. Seized by an impulse he didn’t understand, Harry took his glove off and reached out, brushing the ice over the seam of the double doors with his bare skin. 

The humming whispers intensified for a brief moment, crescendoing for a split second and then were gone, leaving a faint ringing in Harry’s ears.

The ice over the doors had cracked in half, and both doors had swung inward the slightest amount. A sliver of darkness beckoned him inside.

Harry blinked stupidly at the crack, and shoved his glasses back up his face with his bare hand. He was sweating, for some reason.

He cleared his throat. “Hey…I think we can get inside now?”

His sisters bickered on, ignoring him.

Harry raised his voice. “OI! Shut up a minute.”

Lucy and Daisy stopped abruptly and turned as one to stare at him. He gestured wordlessly to the open doors.

“Wicked,” Lucy breathed, eyes glittering with excitement.

Harry pushed at the doors; they opened at the slightest pressure, as if the hinges had been recently oiled. The ice that had been covering them shattered and slithered to the ground with a faint hissing sound.

Lucy barged on ahead, and Harry followed hot on her heels but stopped when he realized their other sister wasn’t with them. Daisy had stayed at the doorway, rooted to the spot.

“How did you get those doors to open?” she asked him, her voice barely beyond a whisper and her eyes wide.

Harry chewed his lip, trying to think of how to answer. He wasn’t sure, himself, how he’d got them to open. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Maybe the heat from my hand did it?” But he knew how weak that sounded even as he said it.

“Do you think this place has an oubliette?” Lucy’s voice carried from further within, a bit distorted, like she was speaking from underwater. Harry was, again, uncomfortably reminded of a dream.

“We’d better catch up to her before she finds something dangerous,” Harry told Daisy.

Daisy stood at the threshold, indecisive, for another long moment, before she nodded and stepped inside.

She was three steps in when the doors swung shut of their own accord, and the unmistakable click of a lock echoed ominously throughout the atrium.

“What was th—”

But Daisy’s question was cut off by a horrid screech from somewhere to Harry’s left.

Lucy.

Harry and Daisy didn’t even hesitate, they both took off in the direction of the scream, dodging fallen blocks and other debris.

Harry skidded through an archway to the adjoining room, and stopped at what he saw. Daisy nearly ran into him.

Lucy was in the middle of the room, lit from above by a beam of light streaming in from a hole in the ceiling. She was standing in a pile of snow and visibly seething.

But she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking up, somewhere above their heads.

“Welcome to my humble home.”

That voice.

With a sinking heart and, horribly, the beginning of a blush creeping up his neck, Harry turned around and looked up.

Standing on a balcony overlooking the room was Tom, as devastatingly handsome as Harry remembered from his one time meeting him.

Gone was the friendly smile and warm, dark eyes. Instead, he had an aura of danger and a hunger that was palpable as he gazed at Harry with eyes that were now gleaming red.

“I’m so pleased you decided to visit me... _Harry_.”

  



End file.
